


Tomes from the Top-Shelf

by PrioriMori



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gender-Neutral Pronouns For Reader, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioriMori/pseuds/PrioriMori
Summary: Requests FullAn ongoing collection of explicit short stories based on the world and lore of Dead by Daylight.More information and tags to follow.
Relationships: Frank Morrison/Pyramid Head | The Executioner, Kenneth "Jeffrey Hawk" Chase | The Clown/Kate Denson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

As mentioned in the summary, I am open to requests currently for this work. Please drop an iea or prompt you would like to read by my hand in the comment section below. The more detail, the better, but I can work with generalities as well!

I must disclose I do not write scenarios of a "non/dubious consent" nature. This is merely for the sake of personal comfort and I appreciate your understanding. Also, the time in which I take to fulfill requests will be based on my schedule/commitments to ongoing stories.

Thank you for dropping in! ❤️❤️❤️

EDIT: I have comment moderation on to filter requests as they come in. Once a request has been completed it will be deleted.


	2. Pyramid Head x Frank: New Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came as a personal request from a good friend of mine!! 💕 All they asked was for Pyramid Head x Frank, otherwise I was given full creative reign.

An inescapable sense of déjà vu lingered within Frank’s thoughts as he walked down the halls of the school. It was familiar, and yet uncanny, just as his friends described. The state of disrepair was to be expected, given the Entity’s corrupting touch upon memories of the outside world, but the presence of putrid flesh mounds growing from floor to ceiling struck Frank as unattested insertions straight out of a home video horror. The tumorous piles oozed foul blood and filled the air with an unbearable rot second only to the metallic sting of rust which coated almost every surface of the school. Frank’s mask did little to filter the disgusting aromas, his nose scrunching as he held long breaths while continuing to canvas the hallways.

Many of the classrooms he saw blended in with the grisly interior design, save for a select few which were left untouched by the bizarre meat. It was on the second story floor where Frank found himself emboldened to venture into one, both in order to sate his gripping curiosity and to find some reprieve for his sense of smell. He lifted his mask as he stepped through the threshold, cutting his eyes from the chalkboard at the front across the scattered desks and chairs which extended all the way into the back. Frank’s brows knitted as he noticed a lone desk left undisturbed in the center of the room, the surface of which he realized was defaced with large, hateful words the closer he approached. Whomever sat here was very much unloved, Frank surmised.

Aloof observance complete, the legionnaire walked back to the forefront of the room and eyed the blank slate of the chalkboard, finding himself overcome with the urge to draw on it. The white sticks of chalk were fragmented into pieces no larger than his fingernails, however Frank needed but a few to work with. In several long strokes he marked a quarter of the green surface with his first name, and just below in the smallest letters he could write added “was here”. He hummed a muted laugh in satisfaction, although he knew it was soon to fade from existence and leave the board bare once again. After all the realms could only reflect the memories they were morphed from, never retain anything new.

Frank backed himself until he was leaning on the teacher’s desk behind him, observing his graffiti proudly as the distant whistle of metal against metal sang in the air. The edges of his mouth twitched in a sedated smirk that was soon concealed by the faux smile of the painted mask. Shoulders drew taut as the harsh scraping echoed ever nearer, fortifying himself for the impending encounter with the guardian of this domain. Frank was dauntless and almost eager in suspense. Julie, Susie, and Joey had told all about the man with the pyramid helmet in lengthy, fervent detail.

He’d been in a trial while they whisked themselves away to the newly manifested destination—“Silent Hill”, they called it—to see if any sort of fun could be squeezed out like blood from the stone. They had not been inside for more than five minutes when a monstrous human discovered their trespass, and chased them out with an unforgiving relentlessness. The silver lining, according to Julie and verified by Susie, was that one could potentially bounce a coin off the man’s ass. Joey called the girls nasty and made a show of gagging, yet it only gave credence to their word.

So here Frank was, for his own self-indulgent confirmation and to extend a customary olive branch to a fellow champion of the Entity. If the survivors could make friends among themselves, then why not the killers? True, most of them did not care for the Legion save for those select few who tolerated their escapades at a minimum, but they were decidedly boring anyhow. Frank held no expectations of this latest creature, however he knew their meeting would be entertaining all the same.

The screaming metal came to a standstill in front of the classroom door, replaced with the reverberations of a sonorous breathing. Frank felt the pace of his heart quicken as the tingle of excitement in his belly grew. For a moment he dared not to look, mildly worried the image crafted in his mind would be torn asunder by disappointing reality. But when a towering shadow casted him in its dark presence he could no longer keep his gaze on the chalkboard. He inhaled steadily as his mask turned towards the realm’s keeper, and found there the manifestation of his friends’ ever true words.

Before Frank was a grisly man with an ungainly stance, only a head taller than himself yet made to look more so by the colossal helm upon his shoulders. Shaped like a pyramid, it was as wide as Frank’s torso as it was long. If he hazarded a guess, the entirety of it was forged in a metallic alloy and weighed an impossible amount. How could he bear the burden of such a thing encaging his head, let alone see? Engrossed momentarily by this unnatural perplexity Frank hadn’t noticed the marred skin nor twisted wires embedded into his arms. More importantly, he failed to realize how close to the desk the creature had become.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Frank greeted informally.

His question was met with unabating thrums of breath from the pyramid head, his chest rising and falling in sedated rhythm. The legionnaire waited patiently for a beat longer until he understood there was no answer to be received. Still, he continued undeterred.

“Listen, I think there’s been a little misunderstanding and I just wanted to clear the air a bit. I’m Frank, got it written up on there for you everything,” he pointed to the wall in front of him. “The three stooges that dropped by here earlier are my friends. We’re the Legion.”

The helmet jerked a fraction to the side where Frank directed, yet nothing more. With the passing of the seconds Frank felt his patience ebb away. Most of the other killers were also impassive walls of quietude whenever he sought to be friendly. It miffed Frank more than he had any business caring, but the slightest indifference showed towards him was taken as a personal affront. He was either to be liked or hated, never ignored.

“Are you mute or is this a silent treatment sort of thing?”

If the man was afflicted by the former, then Frank would find this one-way conversation forgivable. The legionnaire already held some doubts he was capable of speech with that contraption on his head, yet the plausibility was starting to become fact. Another mute killer Frank could deal with. What he could not deal with was one that attacked his friends and appeared ready to attack him as well. Even as he looked straight on at the pyramid helmet he didn’t miss the twitch of the creature’s fingers around the hilt of its sword from the corner of his eye.

Frank let out an enervated sigh, reaching behind his back and hiking the bottom of his jacket up. The pyramid head’s breath came out as a near growl when Frank pulled the knife tucked in his bullet belt out, pointing the blade in his direction. A threatening gesture if ever there was, but it was not Frank’s intention to provoke this thing into a fight. He swung his arm around and let the knife fly from his fingers into the classroom, hitting one of the desks with a resounding thunk. Another pensive minute passes between Frank and the pyramid head as he keeps his palms up and open, wagging his fingers for added emphasis.

“Look, I’m unarmed now. Promise I’m not here to give you any trouble or shit like that. Just trying to be a good neighbor or whatever the fuck you want to call it.”

Reckless, dangerous, and an outright shitty gamble to make. Frank has made many a shitty gamble before, especially here in the Entity’s world, but he’s hoping this time it pays off. Prays inwardly to the ever hungry god of death that this time it's chosen a killer with greater conscious thought than mere bloodlust. He’s thankful for the mask concealing his face, otherwise the beads of sweat collecting on his brow would give away how unnerved he feels.

Mercifully, luck favors Frank today. The pyramid head’s skewed stance rightens tall as he pulls his great knife up, impaling it within the tile. His massive fingers unfurl stiffly, each knuckle at a time, while Frank watches with intrigue. Although his body contorts and sways fluidly, his hands are rigid and flexed rather painfully tight. It reminds Frank of a puppet, except this one is made of flesh and blood.

Those notions are set aside as Frank pushes up from the desk and walks around to the end where the pyramid head stands, bending down low and tilting his neck up to peak underneath the helmet. He clicks his tongue in disappointment when he only sees more metal grating, earning a markedly low rumble from the man. A question, warning, or maybe a laugh. Frank ignores it and keeps running his eyes over the creature’s body, observing the shorn skin hanging from his chest and limbs. He circles the entirety of him as a vulture would, pausing at his back when he sees broken chains fused into muscle and exposed vertebrae. There was no way this man was not in excruciating pain, Frank thought.

“The Entity do that to you or is this a preexisting condition?” he asks rhetorically, coming to stop in front of the pyramid head once more.

His mask peers back to the helmet, listening carefully to the rhythmic hum emanating from it. A tendon above the man’s collar bone twitches and Frank accepts it as some form of answer. He’s about to step away when he spots the open wound in the man’s rib cage. Where there should be muscle or exposed organs, there’s an empty cavity. Frank becomes transfixed on this revelation, and his hand moves of its own accord to reach inside. A growl pulls him from the trance and leaves his fingers hovering just above the lesion.

Frank blinks and lifts his eyes back to the helmet, voice coming as barely more than a whisper. “Can I…?”

The palpable tension in the air is almost suffocating to Frank as he waits for a signal from the man. Sweat slides from his temple to chin and a faint tremble comes to his hands. Just when he finally has the good sense to pull back, the pyramid head’s left arm rotates to give Frank more access to his chest. A shuddering exhale escapes him as he thanks the Entity for all the dumb luck he’s being gifted as his hand inches forward.

The smooth texture of bone on his fingertips was familiar to Frank. Sometimes after the spring thaw he’d find animal remains around Ormond’s ski lodge, even collect a few to show his friends or keep in his room. He wondered if human bone was identical, but the closest he ever got was the cheap plastic skeletons in the school’s science rooms. Here, however, he knew for certain it was very much the same.

Frank ran his fingers back and forth over the ribs in delicate strokes—almost caressing—before pushing his hand slowly inside the gap and wiggling. This roused the pyramid head’s anger, and his hand was swiftly dislodged when his wrist was crushed and twisted back until Frank could feel his elbow threatening to pop. He bit his lip hard to hold back a scream, using his free hand to punch at the man’s chest vainly. The man stepped forward and pushed Frank back into the desk, pressing down further still so his point was made clear.

“Alright, chill! Don’t tear my arm off,” Frank yelled, hissing between his teeth when finally he was released.

With muffled curses Frank hopped up onto the desk and began to rub at his sore forearm, mulling over whether an ample bruise would form when he felt large hands clasp over his knees. The pyramid head’s fingers dug into the denim of Frank’s jeans, squeezing the muscles of his thighs underneath. There was a deliberate pressure in his grip, but not enough to hurt. Frank rose his head and tilted to one side, ogling the new killer behind his painted grin. The hands slid higher as a deep, guttural sound echoed from the helm, pulling a knowing snicker from Frank in return.

“Oooh, so you _do_ want to get neighborly after all,” he insinuated with a coquettish sneer. “Let’s call this your welcoming present, eh?”

The warm, tingling elation from before grew inside Frank as the pyramid head pushed his legs apart and stepped into the open space between, lifting his helmet high so his broad chest was accessible. Frank’s own palms quickly planted themselves over the man’s pectorals, roving across and down all while relishing how strong and powerful he felt. It made him feel small and feeble by comparison, which got his heart racing in a strange blend of fear and arousal.

Frank missed this sensation. How long had it been since last he did this, and with whom? There weren’t many bodies in this world to choose from which fulfilled Frank’s criteria, nor many who actually wanted anything to do with him. A few killers and a survivor or two, at most, but he couldn’t recollect which of them it was who had him bent over last. Didn’t matter now.

The rolling friction of clothed groins brings Frank back to the present with a low groan in his throat. He digs his blunt fingernails into the marred flesh of the pyramid head on the next downstroke of his hands, receiving a droning noise akin to a moan from the man. Frank grins wickedly behind his disguise, pleased he’s found a new partner to share in his sadistic fancies. The fingers on his thighs pull tighter, bunching the fabric in fists and Frank thinks he understands what the creature wants him to do. However, he doesn’t even get the chance to start removing his pants before they’re forcefully ripped from his legs, seams tearing to shreds as paper in the pyramid head’s hands.

“Fucking Christ!” Frank shouts from surprise and aggravation. “Damn it, at least let me get my belt off first, you idiot!”

He’s not worried about his clothes, truthfully. Just as the chalkboard was now clean of his name, the pants would return to normal soon enough. And to say the impatience this behemoth showed in wanting to take him wasn’t a serious turn on would be a flagrant lie. Frank’s bullet belt falls off easily, pushed to the floor to join the remains of his jeans and knife. The pyramid head’s hands are back on him, rough from thick calluses while equally sleek from exposed muscle. He doesn’t touch Frank’s half-hard erection just yet, but he comes teasingly close to the base as he glides further up over hips and under layers of jacket.

The flat of his palms rest against Frank’s stomach and push, urging him to lie back. Frank complies obediently, resting himself upon the flat top of the desk and watches eagerly as the creature slides his hands back down to his legs. The grip on his knees returns as they’re lifted and pushed up, ankles resting over the pyramid head’s shoulders. A shiver of a breath leaves Frank as he’s fully exposed, stomach clenching in flurried exhilaration. He lets his eyes flutter close as the sweeping hands continue to roam over his legs back past his hips, clutching soft flesh above the junction of bone. The cease in movement gives Frank pause. He opens his eyes and pulls himself up by the elbows, staring at the expressionless helmet leering over him as though he can decipher what the creature is thinking.

“What’re you—?”

A gasp slips out of Frank as he’s pulled off the desk and suspended upside down, a momentary panic of falling causing him to lock his ankles behind the man’s neck. The abrupt rush of blood to his head makes Frank disoriented and sends his vision spinning as it tries to adjust to this unnatural angle. If not for the arms wrapped around and crushing him against the pyramid head’s body, he would certainly have cracked his skull upon the cold tile. Frank squeezed his legs all the tighter at the fear of slipping, even as the razor wire of the man’s arms nicked his abdomen and sent his breath hitching with every sting.

Helplessly he dangled there, palms just barely brushing against the floor, and waited in growing discomposure for something to happen. The creature’s breathing steadily filled the air around them, yet in the quiet of its exhales Frank swore he heard movement inside the helmet. It was faint at first, then grew more distinct at the base of the man’s neck. A slick, slithering sound brushing against metal as it escaped its confines.

Then, something warm and wet began to draw lazy circles around his entrance. Frank’s breaths quickened in anxious anticipation and his body stiffened reflexively knowing full well what was to come next. His cheeks began to burn as the tongue lapped hungrily, pushing against the ring of muscle every other pass, before slipping its way inside. The response from Frank was immediate, whimpering and clenching as the invasive tendril stroked his walls. There were only a handful of times Frank had been eaten out by his partners, every single one having been amazing, but there was something different this time.

Was...was the tongue going _deeper_?

Frank thought for sure he was imagining it at first, but then he felt the tip press against something he knew was way farther back than it should have been physically able to reach and oh God, it was still pushing in. He whined as the tongue swirled around in an effort to keep pressing into Frank’s guts, only to be met with stubborn resistance. Each press against his digestive wall simultaneously hit his prostate, shooting ripples of pleasure up Frank’s spine. When the pyramid head couldn’t go any further, it settled for pumping its unnaturally long tongue in and out, curling in just the right way to set Frank’s nerves on fire.

The world was becoming fuzzy for Frank, his breathing harsher and blood pounding in his ears. It wasn’t just the pyramid head’s irrumation making him hazy, but the weight of his own organs pressing into his lungs from suspension. Lack of oxygen was new to Frank, and while the hazy cloud over his mind made it easier to feel the onslaught of sexual bliss happening, it also made the corners of his vision darken.

“Desk,” he begs weakly. “Put me on the desk.”

If the man hears him, Frank doesn’t know. He continues to have his insides made a mess of, saliva coating his walls and dribbling down the curve of his ass making him shiver all the more. The tongue is fucking him silly, and he loves it. But the world is growing steadily darker, and Frank feels his eyes rolling back into his skull as it becomes harder to keep them open. It's when his ankles begin to loosen their hold Frank finds the strength to cry out.

“If you don’t put me on the desk right now, I’m going to pass out!”

The front of his jacket is taken hold and Frank feels himself yanked up then slammed against the wooden desk, the last of the wind being knocked out of him. His mask is jolted ajar by the force, revealing part of his flush, open-mouthed expression. He hears the creature hum as its tongue pulls out with a delicious squelch, leaving him empty but no less satiated.

After sucking in several gulps of air Frank feels the cloudiness of his mind recede, giving way to acute awareness of his legs being pulled forward and getting flipped onto his stomach. His shoes are flat on the floor, but his knees wobble unsteadily. There’s so much to process in such little time, leaving Frank ill prepared for the new intrusion plunging into his aching hole. A cry dies on his lips as he bites down hard, pounding his fist onto the table top as he’s impaled by the pyramid head’s cock. Too long since his last fuck, he thinks, if there’s this much discomfort even after being primed so well. Or the man behind him is just Goddamn huge compared to Frank’s other conquests.

There’s no gradual adjustment either, as a singular, harsh thrust sheaths the man fully inside. Frank feels tears well up as the shooting burn rips through his body, but he’s thankful the worst is over. The creature actually stays stagnant as Frank’s tense muscles go slack over the course of a few calming breaths, easing into the heavy feeling of fullness. Frank tests himself with a roll of his hips, groaning softly as the pangs of pain are now that of pleasure. Broad hands massage his buttocks and pet the small of his back, the closest he knows he’s going to get to comforting.

Running his own tongue over his bleeding lip, Frank readjusts his mask and looks over his shoulder at the monstrous figure stationed there, giving him a curt nod to signal he’s ready. The nails nipping at his hips are the last warning he's given before the cock in him is slid almost entirely out, then slammed back in with brutal force. Frank’s gasp gives way to wanton moans as the pyramid head sets a volitionally swift pace. The sole intent behind his feverish onslaught is to fuck and cum quickly, something Frank is amply used to.

The room is swimming again as white lights dance in Frank’s eyes, but there’s no dread of blacking out. He lets his head lie on the desk and loses himself in the swelling euphoria that comes with being filled to the brim over and over again, listening to the song of skin slapping against skin as beastrial grunts resonate in the empty room. Frank’s ragged mewls are broken by small fits of delirious laughter, high on the natural feel-good chemicals of his brain and making him lose any trace of his inhibitions.

Fingers bruising his hips move on to pinch and fondle elsewhere the pyramid head can reach, from the back of his thighs to the front of his navel. Frank braces his palms on the table and lifts himself higher on the tips of his shoes to keep the angle he needs, rocking in synchronization with each thrust. The barbs of the wire prick him so often as the man envelops his smaller form, gliding over his skin with those beaten, sturdy hands as though Frank was made of fine silk. It's surprisingly gentle compared to the punishing fucking he’s getting.

When a hand dips low, weaving through the hair below his waist, Frank’s breathing catches. His unattended erection twitches at the proximity, precum sliding down the shaft leaving thin, cool lines. The helmet behind him is thrumming again, lower and richer in pitch this time, as though goading or demanding something of him. Frank cranes his head to look at it, seeing only that tongue—freakishly long and grotesquely black—peaking out and dribbling in lustful hunger. A tremor runs through his body to finally see what he had been buried in him moments before. It also makes his cock weap and plea.

“Touch me,” Frank croaks. “P-Please touch me.”

The helm jerks downward and Frank interprets it as a nod, feeling a thrill of pride at having figured out the man’s game. He’s rewarded with taut fingers wrapping around his dick and pumping in time with their colliding hips, making him descend into a keening mess all over again. He feels tears run down his face as the eclipse of his orgasm begins, body clenching in stuttered waves and back arching as his finishes on a muted scream. He ejaculates right as the pyramid head begins to quiver and hasten his thrusts, delving in a final time to fill Frank with cum that feels boiling hot.

The legionnaire whines and tries to pull away, but he’s pushed down with one hand onto the desk and made to stay there as the cock within him starts to soften. Frank can feel the warm jizz deep inside his guts, and it's both amazingly sexy while being disgustingly filling. When the pyramid head does pull out, a gushing sensation follows and drenches his inner legs. It’s humiliating, vile, and Goddamn perfect.

Frank lets himself slide off the desk like the wet sack he feels, ass hitting the cold tile and giggling in the afterglow. He can hear the killer behind him moving around, and dares another glance to see what he’s doing. The hilt of the great knife is back in one hand, pulled free effortlessly, while the other is brought to underside of the pyramid helm. Frank stares in wide-eyed wonder as the black tongue slithers out and laps at his cum coating the palm and fingers, leaving the skin pristinely clean. There’s a humming growl of satisfaction from the pyramid head, like Frank’s semen was the best thing he’s ever tasted. Oh, now that’s fucking _hot_.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Frank titters as the strange guardian begins to leave, giving him a great view of his ass on the way out.

Frank would have to remember to bring some coins with him next time.


	3. The Clown x Kate: Cheirophilia

Kate knew she had a peculiar problem. At least, she had come to recognize it as a problem. Perhaps, more accurately, it was an aberrant fascination. Any term which could be ascribed to her unusual interest other than “fetish”. That word made her feel foul and corrupt, befitting of the world she had been mercilessly pulled into. But Kate was neither of those, nor was her curious allure for human hands.

She couldn’t remember distinctly when exactly she became enraptured with hands, but she knew it started with her own. It was innocent enough; tracing the creases and dips of her palm with the wispy touch of her fingertips, massaging each knuckle of her digits with tender attention, and running the rough, calloused cuts from her guitar strings over her bottom lip. Small, ticklish sensations Kate took for granted everyday of her life and now became flagrantly aware of.

It was a few years into her budding music career when Kate’s mere awareness grew into something more...improper. During a show, when her fingers slid over the metallic strings of her instrument far too quickly, Kate cut her finger deep and heedlessly put it to her mouth to soothe the sting. She tasted copper on her tongue, felt a warmth encase her lithe extremity, and flushed a tint of pink as the wires in her brain entangled themselves. That night she ended her set early with the pretense of treating her gash, but the red box with bandages in the side pocket of her truck door went untouched.

A faint scar just below her nail was Kate’s little token reminder of her problem ever since, but it was just the beginning of her troubles. Kate liked hands, but she loved certain hands more. She had a “type”, one might even say. Larger hands; strong and muscular, with meaty fingers that dwarfed hers in compassion. Hands which could hold her, grab her, crush her effortlessly.

 _His_ hands were like that; girthy, unkempt, but rough in all the right ways. Kate loved the coarseness of his fingers over the soft skin of her breasts and the dig of his nails when he fondled them. She dragged her nails into him as well, leaving long, red welts across his wide shoulders. He laughed with a hiss when she did that, mouth twisting in a fiendish grin as he glowered down at her with charcoal black eyes. Kate would grin back before her jaw dropped in a gasping moan, back arching as those bulky fingers of his slipped into her and curled.

Maybe it was the Entity’s sick sense of humor at work which set them both on a collision course with one another. Or fate. Either way, it was inevitable Kate would meet the Clown in a trial. The only factor left to chance was how he’d caught her last, after all her friends were hooked and beyond saving. Kate’s altruism was her own undoing. A perfect line casted with the perfect bait, and she took it.

Her death was at his own hand, pinned under boot and writhing as he knelt down to eye his pretty prize. But it wasn’t her who was the prize. Kate watched in mute horror as the Clown snagged her wrist and yanked it towards his face, twisting it from all angles to inspect her nails. They were painted a dark, ruddy color, almost similar to the red coating his lips. The Clown pressed those lips of his to her knuckles before swiping a warm tongue over them, humming as though savoring their flavor.

She gasped as he suckled on the tips of her fingers, those blackened eyes locked onto hers the whole while, watching her squirm underneath with blazing hunger. Kate’s face burned from adrenaline and shameful arousal. The Clown knew—oh, he _knew_ —this was doing something to her. He let go of her delicate appendages with a pop, groaning deliciously before leaning down closer.

“Do you like that, my little songbird?” he asked low and husky.

Kate hiccuped on a sob she hadn’t felt coming. The edges of her sight watered as mortification befell and tore into her just as the Clown’s knife would. But despite herself, she nodded.

The Clown hummed again, pressing his mouth to her palm and placing a gentle kiss there. “Tell me whatcha need, little bird, and I’ll take care of you...”

And so he did. Every caress, pinch, and press Kate begged for the killer above her complied. From the chafed rub of his thumb over her swollen clit to the rhythmic thrust of his digits dragging her orgasm out, those perfect, bulky hands sent her into a spiral of total ecstasy. She mutely cried as the wave passed over, pulled tighter than the strings of her instrument, then went limp. Through the haze of bliss Kate watched the Clown bring his soaking fingers up to sniff and taste them, a satisfied smirk present on his painted face.

Kate knew she had a peculiar problem. But as with any problem, the first step in solving it was to acknowledge she had one. The second step involved finding out where the carnival was in-between trials...


End file.
